There'll Be Peace
by Wynefred
Summary: After the djinn attack, Dean hadn't been acting like himself. Sam does what he can to help his brother cope. Co-written with CFEditor.


A/N: Co-written by Wynefred and CFEditor for our dear friend's birthday. Hope you have a fantastic day, Raloria! *hugs*

A/N: Set shortly after "What Is and What Should Never Be".

* * *

The house was a tiny, fully-furnished two-bedroom/one-bath at the end of a cul-de-sac. Sam chose it because the ad read "rent month-to-month, no contract required". It seemed like a miracle, an answer to his prayers. He hoped it wouldn't end up being too good to be true. Sam called the owner and met him for a walk-through of the property, though he didn't really need to view the house; he'd already made his decision. Just about anything would be an improvement over the dumps they usually frequented. Sam paid the guy for one month.

The place looked a little run down but the neighborhood was quiet and out of the way. The furniture had definitely seen better days, but they'd lived in worse. The back of the house looked over a small wooded area between this neighborhood and the one behind it, which lent a feeling of seclusion and serenity to the place. The backyard even included an ancient-looking gas grill mounted in concrete. Not that they'd ever had much experience with grilling beyond their typical salt-n-burn. He was sure they'd figure it out somehow, though.

Convincing his brother, that was another issue altogether. Initially, Dean had put up a fight, insisting that he didn't need a break, that they couldn't afford the cost, that the job was too important. Sam countered these arguments simply by dipping into his little-brother arsenal and appealing to Dean's obsessive need to take care of Sam. In short, Sam cheated.

As sincerely as he could, Sam spun a tale about how strung out he was from hiding out from the Feds after escaping from the detention center in Little Rock. _I'm tired of running_, he said... _just for a little while_, he said... _please, Dean_, he said. Really, his concern was mainly for his brother. After surviving the crazy alternate life he'd been experiencing under the djinn's influence, Dean had been acting strange. Quieter, even more detached, he just wasn't acting like himself.

Sam hoped Dean would see this as an opportunity, a chance to step back and gain some perspective. Instead, every day for a week, Dean griped about how bored he was and insisted that _this is the last day, I mean it Sam, tomorrow we're back on the job_. And every day Sam reminded his brother that they'd already spent the money so they might as well stay. Sometimes, Dean would disappear for a few hours to return hours later, his arms laden with beer and meat for grilling.

One day, Dean returned with a water hose, a bucket, a large sponge, and other supplies for cleaning and waxing the car. _If we're stuck here in 'Pleasantville', USA, might as well do something productive._ He plugged in a dusty old radio he'd found tucked away somewhere in the house, strung up his hose, and settled in for some bonding time with his baby.

xXX

Dean squeezed out the sponge, his tense muscles slowly unknotting. It was hotter than normal for early May and muggier than Hell. His t-shirt was already sticking to his body. He glanced down the driveway to make sure no one was watching and pulled it off. Not that he cared what the neighbors thought. Hell, it was Sam's idea to hang out in this hick town... He hoped his brother would man up and get back to hunting soon. Dean's trigger finger itched to blow the head off some evil sonuvabitch. Being in one place left too much time to think.

He leaned against Baby, breathing in the smell of old leather, relaxing in the feeling of hard metal against his back. Baby... the one piece of normalcy in his life, his haven, his home. But now, after Illinois, she seemed small. Cramped. Not enough.

An image of Mom flashed through his head.

Mom... her long blond hair hanging down in curls, smiling at him. The smell of her shampoo, light and flowery, as he hugged her, breathing in the scent that he'd not forgotten, though he'd been four the last time he smelled it.

He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the scent of her, but it slipped away until he was left with the smell of the musty old leather seats, the soapy water and the stink of engine fluid. Dean's hands clenched convulsively on the sponge, the soap squirting onto the gravel and over his boots. A tear slipped down his cheek and he swiped at it with one of the rags. "Stop being such a girl," he muttered.

"Hey mister, need some help?"

Dean jumped. He opened his eyes and turned around. Three kids were standing at the edge of the driveway, watching him. An older girl, probably 14 or 15, and two boys who looked to be about nine. One of the boys was wearing a backwards baseball cap, a t-shirt advertising the Indianapolis 500, and faded jeans. He was looking at the Impala with something nearing idol worship.

His friend, a bit taller and more nervous looking, nudged him. "Come on, Todd, the man doesn't want us hangin' around."

"I don't need any help," Dean said shortly, hoping they'd go away.

Instead, they came closer, staring at his baby. Well, the boys were. The girl was staring at Dean, a dreamy expression on her face. Her t-shirt said, in bold white lettering on black: _Hell, no, I don't give a damn!_Her ragged jeans were the kind you could buy in stores - the ones with holes ripped strategically in places for a "trendy but tough" look.

Her intense stare made Dean uncomfortable. Feeling exposed, he hastily pulled on his shirt.

Todd was persistent. "She's a real beauty," he said, moving forward despite Dean's warning look. "Chevy Impala, right?" He reached out, almost caressing the car, but stopped before making contact, as if he was afraid to touch it.

"Todd!" the girl warned, "this guy could be a mass murderer, for all we know." She stopped suddenly and blushed. "A very hot mass murderer.. I mean..."

She pulled Todd back and gave Dean what he recognized as the "Don't mess with me" look he'd perfected over the years. She almost pulled it off, he'd give her that. It looked kind of cute on her. She put her arms around Todd, who was squirming.

"Look, Mister, don't mind my brother here. He's all into his cars and stuff. But don't think of trying any freaky tricks on us cuz I know Karate..."

"Liz!" Todd groaned, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor. He wiggled out from her embrace and glared at his sister. "Don't be stupid! The guy's not a mass murderer."

Dean struggled not to smile.

"No," said the other boy. "He and his boyfriend are looking for a place where they can be left alone... probably escaping from that big city anti-gay hatred."

"In Creeper Corners? Are you insane?" Liz sighed "Well, it figures. The hot ones are always gay."

_Oh, God, not that again, _Dean thought. He said, "We're just brothers."

Todd stared back at the Impala. "Besides, Dave, this is not the car of a gay guy. This..." He said, in a whisper, "this is the car of a superhero."

Dean laughed. These kids were too much.

"First of all, he said, "I'm not gay." Dean gave Dave a look that dared him to disagree. "I'm not a mass murderer." He turned to Liz. "Do you want my normal guy credentials?"

"And I'm not a superhero," he told Todd. "My name's Dean." He handed Todd a sponge. "And I could use some help washing the car after all." The kid's face lit up with a smile that could rival Sam's at that age.

"Oh man," breathed Todd, "I never thought I'd get a chance to touch a classic Chevy Impala."

Dave picked up another sponge and started washing the tail light. "Todd, you goofball, stop acting like such a dork!"

"How'd you learn so much about the Impala, anyway?" Dean wondered.

Liz laughed. "Him and our dad," she said. "They love old cars. Any old cars. Even the rotting, stinky ones."

Todd stuck his tongue out at her. "You're just jealous. One day I'll be an engineer... or a secret agent man, like Dean here."

Liz laughed, picking up the hose. "Ha! He's no secret agent man." She turned curiously to Dean. "Are you?"

"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Liz' eyes went wide for a moment before she realized he was joking. She laughed.

Dean warned, "But the secret agent business isn't all hot babes and freaky karate moves."

"It's not?" Liz deadpanned.

"Look at all the hero movies and all the stuff heroes have to give up. Sometimes even their families."

"Well, I think saving people is the best job anyone can do," Todd said. "I'd love to be a policeman or a detective or a secret agent man."

Dean remembered Sam telling him, "It's worth it." Dean used to think so too, but lately he had his doubts.

"So I bet you traveled all over in this car, huh?" Dave asked. "Where did you go?"

"Oh, all over the place.. Just me and my brother, on a massive road trip." Dean warmed to his tale, doling out bits and pieces, details of all the places they'd seen, leaving the monsters out.

For the next hour, Dean worked on Baby, the kids helping him, laughing and goofing around, and for the first time since his fight with the djinn, Dean felt like he was back home.

xXx

Sam leaned against the door frame, watching through the dingy glass of the storm door. The Impala gleamed in the driveway, buckets and sponges scattered on the ground around her. She looked clean but temporarily abandoned.

Dean was running around the street with what seemed like all the kids in the neighborhood, each armed with water guns, the turbo kind with their own water reservoir. Whenever he caught a glimpse of his brother, Sam could see Dean's face lit up with a joy that Sam hadn't seen in many years. As he watched, Dean caught one of the "enemy" in a surprise attack, drenching the kid thoroughly. Sam could hear Dean's laughter even from several houses away.

Smiling to himself, Sam turned away and headed back to the kitchen. He was treating Dean to homemade lasagna tonight and needed to put it together. The sound of Dean's laughter drifted in through the open window as Sam built the dish and he couldn't help smiling again. He didn't regret renting this house. Not for a second.

xXx

Dean sighed in contentment, having just inhaled Sam's lasagna. They were sitting on the patio in the backyard, looking up at the trees. It really did feel like a different world, he decided, like…

"You know," he said, "this isn't half bad." Sam handed him a cold beer..

"What?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

"All this." Dean waved his beer at the mini forest in front of them. "I guess it's alright… until you feel up to hunting again."

"Just alright, huh?" Sam teased. "So the water fight today was just alright?"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Well," Dean said, "we should at least stay till next Wednesday. Dan, he's in the house to the right of us, said they're having a big block party."

"Block party?"

"Uh huh… Apparently, they shut down the cul-de-sac for the night. Y'know, barbeque, games for the kids, loud music."

"Huh.." Sam said, "I wouldn't think you'd be interested in something like _that."_

"I'm not," Dean protested.

Sam looked skeptical.

"I'm not, okay! It's just... there's gonna be a water balloon fight, Sam. Water balloons!"

Sam laughed. "How could we miss the water balloons?" He saluted Dean with his beer.

xXx

They never really had much stuff to call their own, which made traveling easier. Pack light, only the essentials. This had been drilled into the brothers for as long as Sam could remember. And they'd always done it... kept their entire life packed into a few lousy duffel bags.

Somehow, in the course of the month, they'd managed to collect a few odds and ends that had never mattered to them before. They hadn't even realized it until it was time to pack up and hit the road again.

Sam stroked the barbells and workout bench he'd acquired from one of the neighbors. Gary from two doors down had been forced to give up his weight room when his wife announced two weeks ago that she was pregnant with their first. Sam had gladly taken the barbells, making room for them in the tiny living room. He'd sweated over them every day for the last two weeks and felt much better for it. Pumping iron made him feel stronger, more in control, and he reveled in the feeling.

But the equipment was too big to fit into the Impala. He'd made arrangements for one of the other men on the street to pick it up later. Sam sighed and hefted his packed duffel as Dean emerged from his room, battered duffel bag hanging over one shoulder.

In his hands, Dean carried the water gun Todd had given him so many weeks ago. His face looked wistful and sad for a moment before he schooled his face to its normal closed expression.

"What're you going to do with that?" Sam asked.

Dean looked shocked, like he didn't understand why Sam would even raise the question. "Giving it back to Todd."

"You could keep it, Dean," Sam offered.

"Sam, you know we don't have room for something like this."

"We could make room." Sam understood, probably more than anyone, how much Dean ached to keep this one frivolous item.

Dean glared at him for a moment. Sam was expecting a grouchy response, or maybe a sarcastic dig. Instead, his brother's gaze traveled out the door to the Impala sitting proudly outside. Dean's expression softened. "Nah, don't need it. Come on, let's return this and hit the road."

Sam followed his brother out to the car. Whatever happened next, they'd face it head-on, just like they always did. The sounds of the doors opening welcomed them home.


End file.
